


Adoption Day

by EndangeredFandom



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types
Genre: Dogs, Friendship, Sam has daddy issues, lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 10:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndangeredFandom/pseuds/EndangeredFandom
Summary: Marv. (Does anything else need explaining? Lol)
Relationships: Alan Bradley & Sam Flynn, Sam Flynn & Marv
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Adoption Day

**Author's Note:**

> So everyone always gets excited when Marv’s in a fic so I thought I’d write something short about Sam getting Marv. It’s longer than I expected it to be but oh well haha. Anyways, enjoy reading! ~Endangered

Loneliness. Sam hasn’t even  _ really _ felt that emotion before. It’s always been there, a dull ache, barely noticeable until recently. That once-flat pulse is now a sharp, piercing feeling, a void that he doesn’t quite know how to fill. People, normal everyday people, have several ways to fix this problem. Mainly friendship, which people don’t realize how difficult they are to obtain due to their balanced (in lack for a better word,  _ normal _ ) lives. Another is...dating. The word always puts Sam on the defensive. It’s not only that Sam doesn’t exactly enjoy dating, but society has twisted the entire concept in Sam’s mind.

And that’s why he’s still sitting in his living room, reading a book, trying to concentrate. Sam knows that the feeling will pass eventually once he stamps it down by mentally beating himself up about it. About being so selfish, about being so needy. Sam flicks the pages of his book, trying to distract himself with the comforting  _ prrrrrp  _ of paper sliding over his thumb. In all honesty the sound also breaks the stifling silence that’s trapping him in his house. 

He tries reading again, flipping through a few pages (and actually  _ reading _ what they’re saying) before skimming through a chapter, not absorbing anything. A headache starts pulling behind his forehead. Sam closes his eyes, cradling his head with a hand, rubbing at the temples. Sliding off his lap, the book hits the flood with a loud thud. For some reason, having to bend over and pick up the book sends a wave of frustration crashing through him. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to chuck the book, 

What does Alan say that a good cure for anger is? Walking? Walking outside? Sam’s mind is so jumbled he can’t think straight, it doesn’t help that he got very little sleep last night. Sam decides that taking a walk isn’t a bad idea either way, which leads him to stand up, stretching. It takes him a couple of tries to tug his tennis shoes on, not even trying to untie the double-knotted laces. 

The air is crisp, and honestly quite cold. He wishes he brought a jacket. The sky is overcast and a breeze blows right through Sam every couple of seconds. He won’t be surprised if it starts raining, the air smells heavy and damp. Not many people are out, leaving the streets empty. It adds to Sam’s depressed feeling. He crosses his arms to try and salvage some body heat, folding in on himself and rubbing his arms vigorously. He should’ve brought a jacket, or worn long sleeves. The wind picks up, little stinging bullets of cold water peppering his face during the gusts. 

_ Screw this.  _ He thinks bitterly, Alan’s advice is finally wrong, the whole situation sucks. He’ll mentally apologize for thinking bad about Alan later, right now he’s just focusing on finding a building to duck into. The streets are mostly filled with restaurants, but Sam would feel awkward standing in a restaurant without ordering any food so he keeps walking. Just one foot in front of another. A couple more minutes, he’ll find someplace to hunker down. A minute passes. Then another. Another. It’s almost like he’s trying to punish himself for being lonely. The idea’s ridiculous sure, but somewhat likely when it comes to Sam. 

The train of thought spirals from there. Like maybe he’s really being selfish trying to abuse himself, making a big deal out of nothing. Jamming his hands in tight pockets, Sam ducks into the nearest store. There are people in the building so Sam seamlessly swaps his glower to an easy-going, almost smile. A receptionist greets him, pointing to some sort of flyer, asking for some type of donation. Whatever it is, Sam’s brain drowns it out. He makes some half-gesture of dismissal, widening his smile so the receptionist doesn’t feel too annoyed about it. 

Only after the encounter does Sam’s senses start to absorb anything. First, the smell. Distinctly dog-cat-animal scent, vaguely musty and crowded. His eyes catch up afterwards, moving from the floor to looking around. Dogs mostly, a few cats, one snake in a large terrarium. He meets eyes with the tabby cat, it looks at him haughtily and turns around, flicking its tail. It’s canine compadres act oppositely, some leaping to the front of their cages to try and lick Sam’s hands through the bars. The containers aren’t inhumane, they have toys, food, water, blankets; but it still feels cramped, trapped. A twinge of sadness runs through Sam, he starts talking to the dogs. 

“Hey buddy,” He offers a sad smile, reaching through the bars to stroke a dust-gray Pitbull. The dog is ecstatic, barking and wagging its tail. Sam withdraws his arm, walking around again and making sure to give each dog equal amounts of attention. It doesn’t work with some of the dogs; they’re curled up in corners of their cages, snarling or shying away. Sam leaves them alone. 

Sam turns to leave, he needs to eat dinner eventually. Technically he doesn’t have to, but it’s all he can do anymore; Stick to routine. A sharp yapping breaks through the clamor of barking. Sam turns, greeted by a black and white boston terrier. He probably skipped over this one’s cage by accident. Its eyes stare right at Sam, freakishly huge and wide. The dog is cute, in an ugly way. It’s unlikely that it’ll be adopted anytime soon. He feels pity for the dog, unwanted. Sitting there hopefully, barking and staring with intelligent (and at times kind of demonic looking) eyes. Sam’s footsteps slow to a halt, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the creature (because he’s not sure if that can actually count as a dog). 

Walking, crouching, staring. He stis there for a while. The terrier stays silent, looking right back at Sam who cautiously extends a hand. The dog goes over, sniffs his hand, and sneezes. Sam withdraws, wiping his hand on jeans. Yeah, he’ll have to do laundry again later. The terrier trots away to a corner, staring at Sam from there. Same sat in front of the cage longer, mostly wondering what that guy was thinking. 

Sam jumps out of his skin when a hand taps him on the shoulder. 

“Sorry to scare you, but we’re closing in a few minutes.” It’s the receptionist, standing over him with a tight-lipped smile. 

“Oh, yeah sorry.” He apologises quickly, standing up and looking around for a clock. 8:30.  _ 8:30.  _ He had been at that adoption center for two hours. Sam turns and leaves, casting one last look at the dog. 

_ He looks like a Mark,  _ Sam thinks before shaking his head. No, not Mark, something else. Something that starts with an M. 

He shakes his head vigorously, shooing away thoughts of the dog. He attacks his microwave Macaroni and Cheese viciously, trying to ignore all dog related thoughts, but no other thoughts come to mind. So, he lets his thoughts entertain him. Playing with the dog, talking to it, etc. What would Alan think if suddenly Sam had a dog (instead of friends, a wife, a stable job, or frankly, money). Which brings up the,  _ how would I pay for a dog?  _ Sam could chip away at the little funds he has, which isn’t the best idea. A better job would be nice (instead of just the seasonal jobs working as a waiter, janitor, or other). His godfather Alan would most certainly suggest getting work at ENCOM if Sam brings up the topic; which is why he doesn’t bring it up.  _ I will-would  _ he corrects himself quickly  _ find a way.  _

Sam eventually passes out on the couch, unfinished bowl of Mac and cheese balanced precariously on his chest. 

The door creaks open, the scents wash over him again, and the dog’s still there. The tightness in his chest fades away. There was little to no chance that the dog would be gone by the time Sam got there, but still, seeing the ugly thing relieves him. The boston terrier blinks his huge eyes in Sam’s direction before sitting down, resuming his staring contest with Sam. He likes it, it makes Sam feel like the dog is listening to him, talking to him in some weird, psychic way. Sam grins, the dog grins (opens his mouth, tongue lolling out) back. 

That’s it, screw money. Sam needs the dog. He feels awkward, out of place, walking up to the receptionist desk. “Hey,” he says, looking back at the dog several times as if to say  _ hey I’m actually doing it.  _

Thankfully it’s a new receptionist, so there’ll be no current hard feelings. “How can I help you today?” He asks absentmindedly, offering a well-rehearsed smile. The receptionist (Mike, as his name tag states) is obviously distracted, glancing over at his phone every couple of seconds. 

“Yeah I was wondering how I would adopt one of the dogs?” Sam says, pointing to the boston terrier.

“Uh, well…” Mike trails off, looking at his phone for a second before his attention snaps back to Sam. “Sorry, uh you’ll need to talk to one of the workers here. I’m not really a-“ glances at the phone again, “adoption-person-guy.” He points to a woman in a blue vest talking to a dog in a sweet voice.

“You could talk to Larissa, she’ll know what to do.” Mike’s obviously glad when Sam nods and starts walking over to Larissa. He’s probably a newer employee, not yet comfortable with talking to customers, directing them places whatnot. 

Sam walks over to Larissa, standing awkwardly in her peripheral vision, waiting for her to notice him. She continues talking to the dog, a hulking german shepard, for a bit longer before noticing Sam. “Oh! Hi, didn’t see ya’ there.” She smiles with a vaguely southern accent. Sam gives a returning grin.  _ Is it just me, or have I been smiling more?  _ He wonders, the smile on his face now feeling intensely cumbersome and forced. Maybe he’s been forced to smile more through social interaction, or he’s happier, he can’t rightly tell. 

“Mike said that if I had adoption questions I could speak to you?” He asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“That’s right! What’s your question for today?”

“How would I adopt a dog? The-the boston terrier.” He stumbles over the sentence, why is he so nervous?

“Righty’ O, so it’s a bit of a process, but worth it mind you.” She starts, the southern drawl snagging on her words and smudging the end of words into the beginning of the next. “So here we do it a tad differently than some places do, it’s actually a bit easier here. Basically all you need to do is take the dog home for a weekend or so, if it works out you pay a small fee, get some records of the dog’s vaccination and sterilization records and then yer’ done!” Her grin is infectious; Sam finds himself reciprocating the expression. 

“Alright, so the boston terrier? Does he have a name?” Sam asks, glad that there wasn’t a huge legal process he had to go through to get the dog. That would’ve been more stress than he could handle. 

“Nope, owners threw him in here a few weeks ago. They said they hadn’t even named him. Poor thing, they just called him ‘dog’ half the time.” Her facial features pull into a heartbroken frown, obviously caring a lot about the dogs in her care. Larissa’s face brightens after a beat or so, “Thank goodness you are thinking of adopting! So, let’s get this set up shall we?” She glances at Sam for confirmation, barely getting a nod from him before barreling on.

“So today is Thursday-“ Thursday? Sam hadn’t even known the day of the week. “So that means that you can come pick him up tomorrow on Friday. We’ll give you some of his toys, food, water, the whole jazz. You bring him back Monday and we’ll set up a pick up date if it all works out.” She leads him into another room filled with a bunch of papers.

“Oh, you’ll also need to fill out some forms, email address, phones number, home address, etc. We need to be able to contact you half-way through the week for a check in. If you’re having problems with him, just swing by and drop him off. Maybe you could try a different pup.” Larissa’s nonstop (but informational) chatter puts Sam at ease. Normally he might feel overwhelmed, but something about Larissa’s person makes him calmer. Sam nods and says “okay” and “alright” throughout her spiel but otherwise stays silent. A thread of excitement that has been missing for a while now pulses through him. A paper is shoved in front of him, filled with boxes to fill out his information and sign signatures. Writing feels kind of slow and clumsy. He hasn’t written in a while and that fact startles him for a second before he gets back into the rhythm.  _ It’s like riding a bicycle, once you learn, you can’t forget. _

“Alrighty! We’ll see you on Friday-“ she glances at the paper, “Sam Flynn. Have a nice day!” She waves, and Sam waves back, on the way out the door. Sam overprepares, but he doesn’t care. He buys dog treats, a plush bed, toys, anything that could make the little thing happy. Unsure if the adoption center would provide one, he buys a leash and collar as well. When Sam walks home his arms are laden with bags filled with different goods. He’s glad that Alan isn’t there to see, he’s a bit embarrassed being so excited over what some would consider nothing special. 

This is the train of thought that Sam abruptly stops when he sees Alan in front of his house, staring quizzically at the bag slung around each forearm.

“Gone shopping?” Alan asks sarcastically, a confused grin on his face.

“Alan, you should’ve called.” Sam smiles, but doesn’t refrain himself from making the passive aggressive comment. Alan’s grin just turns wry, placing his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. Alan waits in silence for a bit longer, expecting Sam to answer him, which he doesn’t.

It annoys Alan, having to ask again. “So, what do you have here?” Sam stops in front of Alan, casting one anxious glance towards the door his godfather is standing in front of. 

“Oh, just some stuff,” Sam decides to be honest, “I’m adopting a dog so he’s coming over during the weekend.” Alan looks surprised by the answer but nods smiling. 

“It’ll be good for you.” He says softly, to which Sam has no response for. Sam shifts the weight of the bags from arm to arm, looking at the door again, anxious to leave the situation.  _ It’ll be good for you,  _ thinking of it almost makes Sam snort with laughter, Alan’s top concern, making sure that his godson doesn’t go off-the-rails-crazy. Checking in on him, saying things like that, keeping watch over Sam’s every action. It gets annoying at times, partially because Sam is annoyed at feeling like a burden to his father-figure. The two stand there, quite awkwardly, until Sam nudges past Alan into his house. Footsteps follow him. 

“What do you need, Alan?” Sam continues shoving the bags he was carrying into some corner in the kitchen, that was organized enough for him; in fact that’s how most of his house looks like at the moment. 

“Just checking in.”  _ Of course. _

“Well thanks for the intrusion, I’m fine. As always.” Sam forces a smile. There’s no reason for him to be short with Alan over feeling frustration at being abandoned enough to need a dog; Alan’s been the only one there for Sam his entire life, but he just needs to snap at someone. And Alan’s here. Guilt sweeps through Sam, this is a regular routine because he’s always acting mad at Alan for something if anything just for the sake of being agitated at himself.

A subtle frown tugs at Alan’s face, less his mouth and more his whole expression. Slight, small changes that give his face a somber, worried look. Sam has a whole name for the face; the, “Alan’s worried again” face. Pretty apt description is he said so himself. “What type is the dog?” The question is very sudden but a welcome break to the awkward silence.

“Boston terrier, white and black. Looks like a demented beetle-cow-thing.” 

“Doesn’t sound too good-looking.” Alan responds, smiling to break tension. 

Sam shrugs in return, “It’s not cute, but not ugly.” His godfather nods in understanding, wandering around the kitchen and examining the cabinets as if he’s never seen them before.

“Name?”

“I don’t know yet,” Sam genuinely smiles now, “I was thinking something that starts with O, like Oscar. Or something with M but I’m less stoked about that.” Some anger breaks away, like pieces of an iceberg breaking away and being smothered by the ocean of “Alan’s great calming skills”. The two talk for a while more, back and forth, useless filler-in conversation really. In reality Alan is checking little details in Sam’s answers, searching for lies or cracks in his facade. Anything that proves how not-okay Sam is. Eventually, with no evidence Alan does his little mental deduction “Sam seems fine, time to leave” excuses himself, and leaves. 

Social interaction limit: *beep* *beep* *beep* - Exceeded: Warning. Limit Reached.

Sam trudges over to the bathroom, chugging down three ibuprofen in an attempt to curb an impending headache jabbing at his skull before flopping onto the living room couch. The steady sound of wind battering the house lulls Sam into sweet unconsciousness. 

Glaring bright sunlight wakes Sam up with a start. A strange stall halts his thoughts, a transition from dreaming-Sam to awake-Sam, before excitement floods through him. Sitting upright Sam loses balance, tumbling off the sheer edge of the couch. Only by luck does he avoid the corner of a coffee table. Today, he was picking up the dog this morning. He’d have to walk to the shelter (he couldn’t bring the small, potentially nervous dog on a freaking motorcycle ride obviously) which would be a pretty long trip, but it didn’t matter; even though he’d be dragging a heavy carrier the whole way back. It didn’t matter to him, heck he’d carry it for ten miles if it meant having company. Besides, Sam doesn’t want to bother Alan to ask to borrow his car. 

One thing Sam thinks while wandering the streets is that he should’ve looked up the address of the place, or at least bring his phone. Usually Sam has no trouble navigating the complex city streets, but for some reason that instinctual sense of direction isn’t flowing through him that morning. Therefore it takes about half an hour to find the adoption center. 

The same receptionist as the last time greets Sam dully, mumbling a word that sounds like welcome and a bunch of other unintelligible mutters. Sam stands awkwardly in front of the desk, waiting for the receptionist to notice that he hadn’t simply dashed off in the direction of the dogs like most people probably did. It took the receptionist several seconds to realize that Sam is still standing. “Oh, sorry! Did you need something?” The kid sounds genuinely sorry, and Sam just brushes off the slight annoyance.

“Yeah, is Larissa here?” Sam asks, hands in pockets.

“Yeah just in the back.” He says, returning to the computer screen he was typing at before. 

Sam hurries to the back, almost feeling like this is a mission with a time restraint. It is an irrational fear, he knows, but ever since his dad just...left it is hard not to feel like time is slowly slipping through his hands, that everything will disappear. Sam rolls his eyes after that thought  _ I’m just childish.  _ If anything the thought just makes him angry at his dad (or thought of his dad, whatever); leaving young him alone to deal with the emotional trauma, not bothering to say  _ anything.  _ Leaving Alan for Sam to get annoyed at for the sole purpose that his dad- no,  _ Kevin  _ isn’t there for Sam to yell at?

Sam slams down a wall over that train of thought, hurriedly working to diffuse his emotional bomb before finding Larissa. Luck is on his side today because he’s calmed down by the time he finds her with her blue employee-apron on. 

“Heya’ there! Sam, right?” She doesn’t wait for his confirmation, “He’s in the back. All ready for ya’! Glad you came early, they don’t like being kept waiting.” She winks, rambling on about the dog, his habits, etc. Sam absorbs it all with gusto, glad for the distraction. “Give me one second,” she disappears through heavy double doors, and takes some time before reappearing with a crate and other supplies. The amount of stuff she’s carrying almost completely unbalances her, making her almost trip roughly five times before Sam reaches out a hand to accept the crate from her. 

A soft, “woof” comes from the crate, a surprisingly muffled, low noise for such a small dog. Sam cracks a grin, such a strange creature. 

“Alright, you already signed the contract so you’re free to go! Remember, call if you have any problems, bring him back on Monday. We’ve given you some food, toys, a bed, a leash, and all the necessities. So see ya’ later Sam!” He waves on the way out, smiling softly. He makes sure to carry the crate with extreme care, talking to the dog the whole way.

“I think you’ll understand a lot more of this once I tell you everything. There’s quite a lot by the way but don’t get too overwhelmed. We’ll take it slow.” And continuing to tell the dog legitimately everything. It is freeing, relieving. Telling this creature things that he hadn’t even told Alan. Sam takes a detour, then two, then three for the sole purpose of talking more to the dog and letting the cool breeze whip around their faces. They soon ran out of detours, finally making it to Sam’s house. By that time, it already felt that Sam can not leave this dog. It knows every part of him; Sam us completely exposed.

Sam let’s the dog out onto the rug, but instead of instantly running around and sniffing everything (like Sam was sure that a dog would do) the Boston Terrier turns around, staring at Sam. He then pads over, sniffing Sam cautiously before licking his hand, prompting a chuckle from the human. 

“I think...you look like a Marv.” Sam states. Marv woofs, and Sam laughs loudly for the first time in months. 


End file.
